Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Meg Macy, a new author, to the blog. On December 15th, 2025, they released Love Me Do, book two of the series called Love Is Love. It’s a polyamory, neurodivergent, LGBTQA+ romance that’s right up my alley.
BOOK BLURB
Longtime friends Jackson Riley and Juliette (aka Jules) Baxter are committed to fulfilling their first year of business at their breakfast café, but trouble is brewing again in their personal lives. Jack and Reese Baxter are in a committed relationship — or are they? Jack’s not so certain given Reese’s continued reluctance to come out of the closet. Jules has ended her polyamorous relationships, but she’s juggling her romantic attraction to two café staff members – a man and a woman. Jules’s parents split in their support of the cafe, and Reese’s mother is making a big stink as well. When more details of Jack’s secret past rise from the ashes, everything is thrown in turmoil. Will they all survive to celebrate?
Warnings: Anxiety, past abuse, foster care, trans attack, cutting
SERIES BLURB
In the Love Is Love series, three LGBTQA+ contemporary romance novels explore past hurts, healing, and the vulnerability of gay love and acceptance. Friendship, trust, courage, and resilience unite to combat fear and homophobia in reshaping lives and communities.
Juli eyes Jack. “How come you two didn’t stay at the Unicorn until midnight on New Year’s Eve?”
He glances over the table at Reese, whose cheeks flush again. “We agreed to go home early. My man gets overwhelmed with so many people.” Jack leans over and whispers a phrase that Chris doesn’t catch, then taps out a pattern on the table with a finger. “You good?”
Reese taps the same pattern with a smile and visibly relaxes. But he keeps his eyes on the table, avoiding the growing crowd around them. Chris steers the conversation in a different direction, figuring that might help as well.
“I heard last year the Unicorn was so crowded, people couldn’t get in.”
“Yeah,” Jack says. “I was so squashed, I got bruises.”
“You kissed all the pretty boys that night,” Juli teases him. “You went missing a few times, too. Bet you were popular in the men’s restroom, is that it?”
“Hey, I missed my friends after being gone,” he says, his face scarlet from his hairline to his neck. “But Stevie and me left for Blake’s house. They don’t like crowds, neither.”
Reese remains silent, eyes hooded. Chris saw the social media posts from over a year ago, and Juli’s right—Jack was the life of that party. A couple photos showed him sandwiched between two guys on the dance floor, hugging, kissing, groping.
Juli squeals when the waiter sets her pulled pork entrée down with a separate plate of French fries. “Oh my God and the angels, these are so good!”
He steals a few garlic fries. “Remember you owe me, babe.”
“For drinking some of your milkshake?”
“Some? Like more’n half!”
Jack finishes his salad bowl and leans against Reese’s shoulder. “I’m stuffed, that was so good. Glad we didn’t order that churro. You’re as bad as my man chowing down on beef, cheese, and bacon all together. Talk about risking a heart attack.”
Reese shakes his head, his mouth turning up into a half smile. “Don’t listen to him. More than eighty percent of vegetarians go back to eating meat.”
“I’m pescatarian. Just for that, I’ll making pasta with tofu tomorrow for dinner.”
“Hmm. I might have to work late.”
“What a coward! You won’t get a tattoo neither.”
“My body is a temple, not a canvas—”
Juli giggles at their teasing exchange. “Love always wins in the end.”
Chris notices a tall, well-built guy in a hoodie staring at them near the door before he saunters over to their table with a big grin. Doesn’t say anything, but stands behind Jack, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. Cocks his head, clearly listening.
“You ain’t gonna believe this. I was sat down when this lady comes up to me, asking—” Seeing Chris point a finger behind him, Jack twists around in surprise. “The hell?”
The stranger pulls him up from the bench and gives him a ferocious bear hug. “Tink! Knew I’d run into you at some point.”
Jack pulls free. “Never expected to see you in Michigan—wait, hold on.” He turns toward the table. “Hey, everyone. Kyle Kingston is an actor friend from New York. This is my business partner, Jules Baxter, and Chris Bouchard. And here’s my hot man, Reese Baxter.”
Already standing, Reese extends a hand to shake. The actor accepts and gives Jack a knowing smirk, which puzzles Chris. Is Kyle gay or straight? He eyes Juli with interest, winking at her and acting more like a “bro” with a swagger, but keeps a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Chris notices how Reese looks more stone-faced while Jack and Kyle exchange tidbits about theater friends they knew back in New York. At last the actor glances around at them, as if realizing they’re all listening.
“What kind of business are you in, Tink?” the actor asks.
“Running a breakfast café,” Jack says. “Here Comes the Sun’s north of the river. You should stop in and see it. I can text you the address. You still got the same number? Did you ever replace your Android, that damned screen was so scratched….”
Chris stays quiet, but Juli’s attempts to get a word in edgewise are hit or miss. She glances his way and hides a smile behind one hand. Signals him to leave by hooking a thumb at the door. He tosses money on the table to cover their part of the bill.
“Nice meeting you, Kyle! See you guys later.” Juli hurries outside, Chris trailing her, but she turns and holds out a few bills. “This wasn’t a date, remember, so I’ll pay for myself.”
“I just figured you wanted to get out of there fast.”
“I did! You saw Reese? I swear steam came out of his ears,” she says, laughing hard. “He is soooo jealous. I could tell if Kyle has the hots for Jack, didn’t you think so? I wonder if there’s more between them than we know.”
“I remember Stevie or Blake talking about some guy Jack was dating in New York.”
Juli rubs her hands together with a wicked gleam in her blue eyes. “You mean more than a hookup? Oooh. Guess I’ll have to dig for the gossip! If Blake doesn’t know, then for sure Stevie will tell me.”
“She doesn’t know everything about Jack, though,” Chris says, “and Stevie claimed that Jack avoided committed relationships. He’s been with Reese for what, over six months?”
“Yeah, Jack resisted whenever I tried to them up for a blind date last year when we opened the café. Hey, today was a lot of fun,” she says. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up at home or doing a bunch of errands, I never enjoy a day off.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m also Stevie’s personal assistant, doing her laundry and getting her groceries. Without the benefits—money or sex,” Chris adds with a wink.
Juli bursts out laughing again, her reddish-gold hair framing her face like a halo.
National bestselling author Meg Macy is a reader first and foremost. She’s always found comfort, adventure, and connection in books—which might explain why she now writes stories that offer all three.
Best known for her Shamelessly Adorable Teddy Bear Mystery series (Kensington), several Christmas romance novellas with rescue pets, and as one-half of D.E. Ireland, the Agatha Award-nominated duo behind the Eliza Doolittle and Professor Higgins mysteries, Meg has long embraced the cozy end of fiction.
Now, she’s rewriting the rules with a new direction: LGBTQA+ romantic suspense —queer characters in a cozy setting, with spice, intrigue, and plenty of emotional payoff. M/M or M/F polyamory, traditional or trailblazing, her stories are comfort reads with a twist. Unique? Yep. Meg loves breaking the rules. She lives with her writing companion, Mr. Whiskers the cat, and prefers pages to parties any day.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Kashel Char to the blog. On April 2nd, 2026, they released Children of Anzulla: Draxton & Kellan, the start of a trilogy called New Beginnings Trilogy. It’s a portal, sci-fantasy and I do find this subgenre fascinating. Let’s see what it is all about.
BOOK BLURB
DRAXTON:
Have you ever looked for something you know is there but can’t find it?
I was born to explore caves, and when it comes to finding the door to another reality, I become a tire-screeching, hyper-focused maniac.
When I use my charm, I know, no one can refuse me, especially when I’m wearing my sexy jean shorts and wide-brimmed hat, even if I pair them with flip-flops.
I will do anything to secure an extension to explore the Star Caves, nestled in the Cradle of Mankind, South Africa.
With my grandfather’s map in hand, I set out to barter for more time.
The plan was simple. Entice, seduce, and bribe the man responsible for my future. He accepted the bribe, my priceless map, but as soon as he started showing up at the site, he refused my body, three times!
KELLAN:
How do you keep a bubble from popping when you want to catch it? Easy, don’t try to catch it at all.
I’m so in love with Draxton that I’d do just about anything to keep him around a little longer—even if it means shoving him into another guy’s arms! It’s my way of saying, I’m not trying to build a Draxton prison over here!
But, how will I do that if I have to protect him while he’s going on all these missions to help my brother free Atlas, a dragon who was the only one who could take us back home?
Recommended pre-read: New Beginnings Trilogy.
Warnings: Themes of rescue missions, human oppression, invasion, slavery
His eyes flicked to mine. “You know, Mr. Dubois, I call bullshit. You didn’t preserve it. You were hiding something.” He was correct. I hid my great-grandfather’s code that he had written with milk on the side of the map.
I waved off the statement. “Look, the passages on the map turn left upon entry and pass in front of the chimney, but then it turns sharply down and to the right. We need more time because we’ve been scanning that wall repeatedly. We can’t go right. We need time. Here, Tobias and I found a fine line. I call it a line, but he insists it’s a crack. It’s unusually straight and long. No human could have scraped that with a piece of rock. It’s not rock carvings. Look, the door has to be there, somewhere in this exact spot, either up or down. You know the rock carvings look just like these.” I pointed to ladders, triangles, and squares. “I know the door is there. All I need is time, Professor. Once I find the door, all the credit goes to you and your faculty. You won’t have to spend a cent. All you have to do is say yes. Let National Geographic pull out, as they planned to today. I need space to work without any interference or distractions. Give me three months. That’s all I ask. If there’s no sign other than what we’ve found up until today, I will gladly pack up and call it quits. I’ll go home and start my research all over again. Because then I’m wrong. So wrong.”
I tipped my head down to catch my breath and waited. Usually, people hated it if I stayed quiet for so long, it made them uncomfortable. My grandfather told me it’s not my fault if people got impatient and thought I was rude. The silence in the office finally doused my echoing words. When I looked back up, he sat patiently waiting for me with a smile. This man was really at the top of the food chain.
He pointed a finger at me. I wanted to sink to my knees for him. Not to beg, but to crawl closer and smell him like a dog. I bet he smelled like soap and tasted sweat. “I will give you three months, but I will be visiting and checking on your progress. No one else goes into those caves but you and Tobias. You work for me now. Without pay, of course. Anything new—be it the door, any bones, or anything, I don’t care if it’s just a hair. It belongs to the Wits, to my department.”
A broad smile spread across my face. “Thank you.” I stood up weak in the knees, to shake his hand. “You just made the best deal of your career. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Famous last words, Mr. Dubois.” He unfolded his new map, then rolled it back up and slipped it back into the protective tube.
“Famous indeed, as you’ll see. You are about to become very famous.” I chuckled. “I was about to flirt with you and persuade you with my body.” I laughed, awaiting a reaction.
“No need for that. We’ll see more of each other, Mr. Dubois.”
“Please, I asked you earlier to call me Draxton.”
“Only if you call me by my name, Kellan.” He looked like a Kellan. I liked the alliteration of the k’s.
“Professor Kellan Kilroy, I look forward to working with you.” We shook hands longer than necessary. His long, slender fingers were surprisingly callused for a man who spends his days in an office. I shivered at the thought of those rough calluses scraping against my skin down my spine on their way to separate my butt cheeks.
Gods, I have to stop gazing into his all-knowing eyes. I can’t…I can’t look away.
He beamed at me knowingly, and we paused for a moment. In that instant, for the first time ever, my entire world went silent as I made eye contact. It didn’t make me nervous—no buzzing noises urging me to find silence—just a profound and unexpected comfort that settled deep within my bones. All the usual frantic chatter in my mind faded, replaced by a singular, unwavering focus as we shared the understanding of mutual attraction.
“We’ll see each other again the day after tomorrow. Please tell Tobias I said hello.” He patted my arm, and my skin prickled where he had touched me.
Swirls of heat detonated inside me. “I…I will, until then,” I said hurriedly, opening the office door, flustered and eager to resume my trek through the Johannesburg traffic—with a victorious grin.
Kashel is a Canadian speculative fiction author, writing in the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and paranormal.
Their writing explores who we are, where we come from, and where we are heading as a human race on Earth, by weaving unpredictable, twisted stories with a dash of humor, centered on gay characters.
Please welcome returning author Mell Eight to the Moonbeams over Atlanta blog. This is a book blast for the new release Divine Judgment. If you like paranormal romantacies, this is for you. As a side note, I liked the blurb enough while posting this that I picked it up on Kobo. ☺️
Title: Divine Judgment Author: Mell Eight Publisher: NineStar Press Release Date: 03/10/2026 Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex Pairing: Male/Male Length: 43908
Ves’s life has always been a troubled one. An orphan growing up on the streets and imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, Ves knows how bad things can be. When he’s chosen to go before the God of Judgment to be judged for his crimes, Ves knows the result of that will either be insanity or death. Except, Judgment doesn’t go as anyone expected when, instead, the God chooses Ves to be his head priest.
Settling into his new life as priest to a God is strange, but being around Rais, the God of Judgment, is no chore. Spending time together as Ves learns what it means to be a Priest of Judgment is wonderful, until people from Ves’s past realize where he is. Ves must decide whether he wants the past he didn’t realize he had lost, or the future he was just starting to build with Rais. Presuming the other powers at play allow him to live long enough to make that decision.
Ves’s side of the room was small with no windows and a single chair in the center of the stained wood floor. The walls had been white originally but were now a murky shade of brownish gray. The guard behind him grunted pointedly, so Ves made his slow way to the chair. He gratefully sat down and placed his crutch on the floor next to him before looking across his portion of the room to the other side. A high wall separated his dingy room from the court judge in his comfortably padded chair behind a carved wooden desk. The upper half of the wall was open like a long window and high enough anyone from Ves’s side would require a few extra seconds to climb, which was more than enough time for the guard standing behind Ves to stop them. Not that Ves could climb like that, of course, but Ves doubted the judge or the guard cared.
The judge had a steaming mug of tea at one hand, a folio in front of him, and a fancy quill in a stand to his right. The walls in his half of the room were painted a cheery yellow, which augmented the afternoon light streaming in from the glass-paned window.
“You have been recommended for early release,” the judge said. He didn’t look up from the folio, nor otherwise acknowledge Ves was in the room. “Based on your criminal history and your behavior while incarcerated, the court is willing to consider this sentence reduction.”
Ves swallowed down his growing hope, knowing better than to say anything or let any budding happiness show on his face in any way that could be seen by the guards or the judge. In this world of prison bars and shackles, hiding emotion was much safer. Besides, Ves had always been skilled at discerning the truth hidden behind the words. In this case, the truth was the prison was overcrowded and funding was limited. Thanks to his injury, Ves wasn’t likely to repeat the crimes for which he had been convicted, and providing medical care and accommodations for him was expensive. Tossing him out on the street and hoping for the best was far more economical for the courts than keeping him for the full term of his sentence.
“However, there are requirements that must be fulfilled prior to certifying your release,” the judge continued. “Per our laws enshrined in the annals of the divine accolades, first, you must go before the God of Judgment and beg for absolution of your crime. Should the God grant mercy, you will be released from prison. Second, should you be granted release, you will be provided housing for one week, after which you must obtain lawful employment. You must be gainfully employed for the remaining time left on your sentence. A gap of longer than a week is grounds for reincarceration. Third, you will be assigned a liaison officer with whom you must meet weekly. This officer will assess your activities and provide reports to the court regarding whether you should return to prison. Lastly, commission of any crime is grounds for immediate cancellation of your early release.”
The court judge picked up the fancy quill, dipped it in ink, and signed something at the bottom of one of the papers in the folio. He dusted the ink with sand before closing the folio and passing it to someone standing by the door, likely a secretary. Once that was done, he looked at the guard.
“Next case. I would like to have this chore completed in time to be home for afternoon tea.” The judge still hadn’t looked at Ves, more interested in the contents of his cooling teacup as Ves picked up his crutch and struggled to his feet.
Ves followed the guard out the door and back into the prison, trying not to let hope take root in his chest. He had no idea what obtaining a divine Judgment required, but felt safe assuming he didn’t have enough money to bribe the priests in the temple of the God of Judgment to agree to his release. Even if he did manage to get through Judgment, getting a job with his injury was going to be next to impossible. Ves didn’t remember the stabbing or know why he had been targeted by another inmate, just that when he woke in the prison’s medical wing, he had lost the use of his right leg as a result. The leg was still attached, but he could only bend his knee, feel his foot, or wiggle his toes about 10 percent of the time. The other 90 percent, his right foot hung like a deadweight. There was no way to know whether the stabbing had been the cause or whether the incompetent medical care Ves received afterward was the problem, but he was restricted to the speed of his crutch and only had one free hand to carry things while he was upright. Most ex-convicts found work at the docks unloading ships. Ves wouldn’t be able to do that, which limited his options severely. Regardless, even a few days of freedom would be a nice vacation from the hell that was prison.
“Do you know when I’ll be able to request absolution from the God of Judgment?” Ves asked the guard, who grunted in response.
“Today’s Moonsadai. Convict absolution is always the morning of Raisadai, so in two days. Don’t be in a rush to meet this God though.” The guard smirked at Ves. “If you’re lucky, you’ll come back here more injured than you left. If you’re not lucky, you’ll be dead.” Still smirking, the guard stopped at the first set of doors leading into Ves’s shared cell. He pulled a lever, and the first barred door slid aside. Ves stepped through the doorway and the first door slid closed, locking him into the two-by-two-foot space. The guard pulled the lever again, and the second door slid to the side, revealing the nine-by-nine-foot square cell he shared with three other inmates.
The man Ves only knew as Fang grinned at Ves as the second door closed behind him. Both of Fang’s pointed incisors, sharpened prior to his arrest for ripping out chunks of people with his teeth, were prominent in his mouth, so the grin was equally a threat and a welcome.
“Well, you getting out of here?” Fang asked, watching from where he was sitting on his bottom bunk as Ves slowly made his way to the other bunk bed. Ves got the bottom of his bed thanks to necessity, since he couldn’t climb. Fang liked Ves for some reason, so it was thanks to his influence over their other two cellmates that Ves hadn’t been challenged for the better bed.
“I get to have a hearing with the God of Judgment in two days. I’m not sure that means I’m getting out of here though.”
“If you only get to see one of the priests, you’ll be back here in an hour,” Omnit called from where he was flopped out on the bed above Ves.
Fang nodded and ran his hand over his mouth. “Maybe. If you actually get to go into the temple to get a Judgment directly from the God, though, I’ll bet you’ll be freed. You’re one of the noble mistakes, right? I’ve heard the God of Judgment doesn’t care about rank or money, just whether you actually committed the crime.”
“And I’ve heard people who go see the God come back missing limbs or go straight to the crazy house ’cause their heads got messed up instead,” Omnit added. “They spend the rest of their days laughing at blank walls or screaming at the air. Better to see a corrupt priest instead.”
Ves sighed and lay back on the thin mattress, staring up at the straps holding Omnit’s mattress in place. One of the noble mistakes. In the prison system they were so common they had a name, and people who fell into that category tended to receive a bit more leeway from the other inmates. They weren’t usually randomly stabbed like Ves. The guards didn’t care, but Fang had defended Ves on multiple occasions because of it. When nobles broke the law and got caught, that mistake was rectified with money put in the right hands and a scapegoat going to prison instead. Ves hadn’t even had a trial but was now seven years into a fifteen-year sentence, convicted of two attempted rapes, the last one resulting in manslaughter of the victim. He would be turning twenty-one years old in two days, Ves realized as his gloomy thoughts identified something else depressing to focus on. When people reached the age of majority, they visited the temple of the God of Life to pray for guidance as they stepped into adulthood. Hopefully visiting the God of Judgment, instead, wouldn’t be yet another black mark against him.
“It’s not like I have a choice,” Ves finally responded. “The court judge signed some paperwork, so I’ll be dragged to the temple whether I like it or not.”
Fang let out a barking laugh. “That’s the world of the Gods, I guess. All we can do is hope they don’t make us suffer too damned much.”
Before Ves could think of a response, the afternoon klaxon went off, echoing through the prison as it did twice every day—first thing in the morning and now. Ves’s ears continued to ring for a few seconds after the klaxon stopped. By the time he could hear again, he could also hear the squeaky wheel from the meal cart in the hallway. A moment later a slot opened above the small table in the corner, bolted to the wall so they couldn’t move it, and someone pushed four trays filled with their dinner onto it. Omnit scrambled down from his bed and returned holding two trays, one of which he passed to Ves. Fang grabbed a tray, and the fourth man in their cell climbed down from his bunk over Fang to get his as well. The man never spoke, ever, so Ves didn’t know his name, but he also never caused problems, so he wasn’t the worst roommate Ves had endured in his seven years here.
Dinner was boiled chicken, boiled potatoes, and boiled beans, each portioned exactly so every tray had the same amount of bland, lifeless grub. At first, Ves had been excited about the prospect of regular meals, since that wasn’t something he had enjoyed before his incarceration, but that minimal silver lining had faded away fast. He ate the food, tasting nothing the entire time, and let Omnit return the empty tray to the table next to the slot for the workers to remove later. With nothing else to anticipate before the morning klaxon announcing breakfast, Ves curled up on his bed and pulled his thin blanket over his shoulders. Sleeping wouldn’t end his misery or allay his worries about the impending temple visit, but at least he could turn off his brain for a few hours. After seven years of long practice, Ves forced himself to sleep, knowing everything would still be waiting for him to dwell on in the morning.
When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.
Please welcome Stephanie Burke to the Moonbeams over Atlanta blog. This is a book blast for the new release Demonium Rex AKA Buttercupe, a second edition of book 6 in the Demon Entanglements series. This is perfect for fans of urban fantasy and romance.
Win is a writer with a new house, a new life, and a rapidly approaching deadline. She doesn’t have time for the voices in her head to be demanding attention. She just wants to finish her book and maybe get laid. But what will she do when the character her subconscious dreams up starts becoming corporeal?
Demonium Rex is the undisputed king of all sexual demons, but when his people come to him with a mark who refuses to crack, he takes action. Now he is stuck in a non-corporeal form while the woman he needs to seduce is too stubborn to just let it happen. And even worse, she sticks him with a stupid name. But in the end, he will show her who’s the real King — or his name isn’t Buttercup.
Wineva Waller had never felt so warm, so safe, so comforted. It was like she was being wrapped in a huge, soft, silk-lined quilt, or more like floating in a deep pool of the warmest of soft-perfumed waters. It had to be a dream, a lie. There was nothing soft in her life, had never been, would never be.
But why not enjoy the escape and live the fantasy while it lasted? She couldn’t do a lot of things for herself, couldn’t care less about the way the world worked or how people viewed her, but she could at least give herself this, even if it would dissipate like wisps of dew in the morning sun.
There were arms around her, solid and muscular, holding her in a warm embrace that canceled out worry, stress, and time. There was a large male body pressed tightly to her, a hard, fuzzy chest that her breasts were pressed deliciously against, chin nuzzling in the top of her hair, heavy, muscular legs entwined with hers.
As she contemplated who it could be, a large, warm hand slid up from her belly to cup her breast, the palm rough against her nipple. She couldn’t stop the moan from leaving her mouth as that clever, beautiful hand caressed her flesh, the fingers tugging sharply at her nipple, causing her to arch her back as the pleasure shot down her spine and settled in her pussy. She was getting so wet.
“I can feel how much you want me,” the voice purred as a second hand slid down to comb through the neatly trimmed patch of hair at her groin.
Win whimpered, feeling the need to be touched grow inside her. Those fingers were moving too slow. She needed more, she wanted more. She opened her mouth to complain when one of his legs shoved forward, parting her thighs, and she shivered as the cooler air of the room wound around her needy pussy.
“I’ve got you,” the voice insisted as warm, citrus-scented breath caressed her ear. There was a nip there as the fingers teased her mound, sliding down further, the tips caressing the root of her clit, and that one touch made her gasp, arching her hip to get more.
It felt so good… it had been so long…
“Please,” she whimpered as that knowing finger began to run small circles around the base of her clit, making her whole body tremble as she moved her ass back against the hard length of cock.
“Who hurt you?” he asked again, his lips trailing down the back of her neck, his warm breath caressing her skin.
As she tried to figure out what he wanted, there was a sharp nip and then a solid bite to the base of her neck. Sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time shot down her back as the hand caressing her breast slid up to wrap gently around her neck.
She began to pant, her heart was racing as his hard cock began sliding against her cheeks until the hot bar of flesh was settled between them, not trying to penetrate but just caressing her there too. The feel of him was intense and as she opened her mouth to demand more, the clever fingers at her groin finally moved lower, gently sliding back the protective hood of her clit to lightly caress her tender skin, pulling a whimper from her throat. Her hips began to rise up, seeking more of that electric touch, tearing her breath from her body as her heart began to race even faster.
“Please,” she begged as he began to take control of her body, playing her like a fine instrument and pulling sounds she would have been embarrassed were hers in the daylight.
“I have you.” His voice was deep and rough, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned her and this time pressed against her back to the bed. She could feel it racing, matching the tempo of her own rapidly beating heart as she rocked back against him.
She opened her mouth to demand more as his fingers began to press and tighten around her clit. Win could feel her slick wetness slowly slide down, soaking her swollen labia that was also begging for a touch. She tried to push her hips forward, to force his fingers where she needed them the most, but he only chuckled at her action.
“Who hurt you?” he asked again, biting down harder on her shoulder before he licked the sharp pain away.
Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.
From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.
Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.
Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.
Please welcome new author Will Okati to the Moonbeams over Atlanta blog. This is a book blast for the new release And Call Me, a second edition, box set duet. This is perfect for fans of age-gap romance.
Title: And Call Me
Author: Will Okati
Cover Art: Bryan Keller
Genres: Action Adventure, Box Sets, Contemporary, New Releases, Romance
Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ Gay, Medical Romance, Second Edition
Need a prescription for love? Take two, and call me in the morning.
And Call Me in the Morning: Eli and Zane. Yes, they spend a lot of time together. That doesn’t mean they’re a real couple. When teased about it one too many times by their colleagues, Zane challenges Eli to set the record straight with a kiss to prove there’s absolutely no chemistry between them. Neither expected a spark to ignite between them. More than a spark. Truth be told, Eli’s not so sure they can set the record straight after all.
And Call Me in the Evening: Eli’s still not great at wearing his heart on his sleeve and Zane’s still got trust issues, but they manage just fine. It’s all good. Right? Yes and no. Eli’s ex-wife Marybeth has come back to town, bringing a heaping helping of hassle with her. There’s something to be said for setting the story straight, it’s true. Eli knows he and Zane have a good thing going even if keeping it that way is the hardest — and best — part.
Falling in love with his closest friend had never been something Eli planned to do with his life. Wasn’t as if he could have stopped it, though.
Sometimes love just happened.
Even if it took him a while to figure that out.
* * *
“There you are.” Zane laid down the heavy, ivory-colored menu he’d been idly flipping through as Eli approached, making his way through the maze of tables at their regular bistro. “I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”
Eli sat with a thump, running his hand through his dark brown hair, cut short but still quite capable of standing on end. He grimaced when he discovered he’d forgotten his stethoscope, still wound around his neck.
“Long night?” Zane asked, already waving their server over with the universal “coffee here” gesture.
Eli relaxed and let Zane take care of him. Some days, a man truly appreciated a friend who’d have his back when he needed a rock to shore up against. “Long, long night. Three-car pileup at an intersection. I didn’t want to leave before everyone was stable.”
“That’s my boy.” Zane shifted out of the way to let their server pour Eli’s cup. She was a pretty thing, well packed into her curves — curves that she offered not so subtly for display.
Zane ignored them. He’d taken Eli’s face in his hands and begun to assess him for signs of exhaustion. The guy had good hands, firm and dry and dexterous. They felt nice and cool against Eli’s skin. He let Eli go with a light slap to the cheek. “Your eyes look like burned holes in a blanket. You should go home and get some rest.”
“Like I’d miss a chance at a fine, elegant brunch?” Eli rolled his eyes.
“Heaven forbid.” Zane gave good deadpan. “Jeez. This is the kind of place I fear running into my family.” How moneyed Zane’s family was, Eli didn’t know. Coming from an ivory tower was a sore spot for Zane, who much preferred the life he’d chosen in a grittier world.
Eli segued to spare Zane any discomfort. What were friends for, right? “You were on last night too. How’d you manage to get away in time for a shower and a sharp morning suit?”
“Questions, questions.” The corners of Zane’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Unlike some of us, I leave when my shift’s done.”
“Since when? You’re as much of a workaholic as I am, if not more. A hospitalist’s work is never done, especially at Immaculate Grace. What was I thinking when I chose that as a career, anyway?”
“That you’re a glutton for punishment?”
“True enough.” Eli drank deeply of his coffee, almost moaning in appreciation. The influx of better-than-decent caffeine stimulated his brain. “Before I forget, I got those concert tickets you begged me for. Two, even.” He patted his dark brown shirt pocket. Plain clothes for a plain man, built tough to last, Chicago born and bred for forty-three years.
Unlike Zane, who looked as fresh as a daisy in a casual white linen jacket, pale violet button-down, and pressed slacks. Pretty as a picture, coming across as maybe five years younger than his forty-one. Zane brightened and made a grab. “Good seats?”
“I’m told they’re the best. Ah-ah-ah.” Eli tapped his pocket again. “I also got advance tickets for a Cubs game when the season starts. Fair is fair. I try not to fall asleep during the chorale or chamber music or whatever you want to call it, and you endure beer, umpire heckling, and giant foam fingers.”
“Done and done. You drive a hard bargain.” Zane clinked coffee cups with Eli. He hadn’t looked away once, but Eli liked that about Zane. When he gave you his full attention, nothing else seemed to matter to him. All part of the Zane package, and it made him the best doctor Eli had known. “I –” He stopped, interrupted by the chiming of his pager. When he checked the number, he grimaced. “Damn. Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Keep that warm for me.”
“What did I tell you? Workaholic. Hey! Do not let them talk you into coming back to the hospital today.”
Zane waved backward at Eli as he walked off. Eli watched him go, amused.
A different server, young and male, approached with the coffeepot. Eli suspected the waitress had gotten fed up with flirting and traded off. Fine by him. This kid had a good eye for refills. He held his cup up. “Keep it coming, but we’re not ordering yet. Still waiting for two.”
And they’d better hurry, if they know what’s good for them.
Eli wasn’t a huge fan of this bistro. Without Zane there to provide a buffer, the place was too rich for his blood. Made him feel like any second someone with a pedigree was going to jump out from behind a column and ask him what a working-class stiff like him thought he was doing here.
“Of course, sir. I’m sorry if I’m being rude,” the waiter said, deftly pouring. “If I could ask — you two make such a handsome couple. How long have you been together?”
Not this again. Eli didn’t even have to ask what the kid meant. Wasn’t the first time he and Zane had been mistaken for a couple, and he’d bet his hard-earned MD it wouldn’t be the last. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but we’re not.”
The waiter’s coffeepot slipped. “You’re not — oh. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.” Eli waved him off before the kid could apologize again. He’d almost gotten used to the assumption. Whatever people saw in Zane and him, he had no idea. Felt like being on the shooting range sometimes, as many assumptions made about them as they had to dodge. Once corrected, strangers were mostly good about apologizing and moving on.
Friends of theirs, on the other hand, were not so accommodating.
“We made it!” Diana and Holly — also doctors, both familiar faces at Immaculate Heart — swarmed the table in a cloud of perfume and joie de vivre. With them, more hesitantly, came a fresh-faced kid Eli vaguely recognized as an intern. The ladies dove into the fresh baguettes and cherry jam their new waiter discreetly slid onto the table before exiting at speed, stage left.
Eli stayed well back from the carnage. Friends they might be, but Holly and Diana — well, it was best to stay on your toes around them. “Who’s the boy toy?”
Holly, a pale, Nordic-type blonde, swatted Eli’s arm. “Be nice. Taye’s been at work for almost twenty-four hours. He deserved a break, so we brought him along to give him a treat.”
Eli didn’t doubt she spoke the truth. The intern was gray with exhaustion and had bags under his eyes big enough to carry the US mail. For all that, he wasn’t bad-looking. If you noticed male attributes, that was. A well-shaped face and a kind mouth, reddish gold hair cut short and sleek. Eli could tell he was probably handsome given the way Diana eyed him with impressively dirty intent.
“Really?” Eli nudged Diana under the table.
Diana, forty-two and unashamed, attractive in a gamine sort of way, wrinkled her nose at Eli. A damned fine cardiologist and an innovator in her field, she had the sense of humor of a collegiate and saw no point in growing old gracefully. She nudged back, and ouch, she was wearing pointy-toed shoes. “Bah humbug.”
Taye watched them with big eyes. “Is there something going on here that I should know about?”
“Not a thing,” Diana said. Butter wouldn’t have melted between her cherry red lips. She stole Eli’s coffee and sipped demurely.
Holly petted Taye’s hair. “It’s all right, Taye. No one here’s going to bite.”
Taye cracked a grin. “Right. It’s just — three doctors and me. All of you have been in medicine since I was in grade school. I’m a little nervous.”
“Shows what you know,” Eli said, jumping back into the conversation. “I just finished my residency last year.” He shrugged. “My midlife crisis came early. What can I say?”
“Seriously? But you seem so… I mean, you’re… The way you take charge, I’d thought you were an old pro.”
“Thank you. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks. And before you ask, I’m forty-three.” Eli took his cup back from Diana, only to find it empty. “Wench.”
She smirked at Eli. “And don’t you forget it. So where’s your wife?”
“Right now, specifically?” Eli checked his watch, a gift from Zane when he’d been hired on as an attending. “Hell if I know. Either in Nepal with Paolo or in Paris with Neo. I lost track.” Either way, she was doing adventurous things with a man who isn’t married to his job. He couldn’t blame Marybeth. Cops made terrible husbands. When he’d decided to switch to medicine, that’d been the last straw, and he wished her well with… whoever was on the menu this week. “Enough about me.” They knew damn well he didn’t like to talk about personal business in public.
Holly and Diana exchanged glances, the secretly amused and utterly female method of communication Eli had never learned to interpret, God help him.
“Good for her. I was talking about your other wife,” Diana said around a bite of ruby jam and baguette.
“Beg pardon?”
“She means Zane,” Holly said.
That, in Eli’s opinion, was taking it too far, especially in front of a colleague Eli didn’t know. “Enough, the both of you.”
Holly ignored him serenely and put her chin in her hands. “Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve seen you without him in weeks.”
Eli could feel Taye watching them, fascinated. “My private life is not up for scrutiny, but for the last time, Zane and I are not together. How many times do I have to say this, and to how many people?”
“Wait, what?” Looked like Taye had forgotten his nerves. He turned to Diana instead of Eli. “Zane is Dr. Novia, right? They’re not…”
“No,” Eli said, annoyed. A flicker of motion in his peripheral vision filled him with relief. “Zane, for the love of God, would you get behind me on this?”
Diana and Holly dissolved into giggles. Zane shrugged, untroubled as ever, and took his seat. He tucked his pager away. “What are we being ridiculed for today?”
“Same old, same old,” Eli said. He passed Zane the bread and jam. “Apparently we want to jump each other’s bones.”
“An oldie, but a goodie.” Zane lifted his chin at Taye. “What are you looking at, junior?”
Taye coughed. “Nothing. Sorry.” He retreated behind a mouthful of fresh-from-the-oven baguette.
Eli had to admire Zane at work. They could have used a laser stare like Zane’s on the force back in the day. He’d have had perps pissing their pants with nothing more than a look.
Zane turned it on Diana. “Look at you, Mrs. Robinson.”
Diana possessed not the smallest trace of shame. “You wish you had my cojones.”
“True.”
Their byplay didn’t stop Holly. Nothing did, as far as Eli could tell. Hell, her husband egged her on; Eli held it in private opinion that the pair of them enjoyed more kink than a Slinky. She folded her hands beneath her chin and gave Zane her best you-can-trust-me psychotherapist face. “It just seems obvious to everyone but the pair of you.”
“It’s true,” Diana said. She started to pick through the packages of fake and real sugar, searching for Splenda. “You go to the symphony together. Ball games. Brunch, for God’s sake. And when was the last time you went out with a woman, the pair of us aside?”
Eli opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So it’s been a while. I don’t have time for playing the field when I’m trying to get ahead with my career.”
“But you have time to spend with Zane,” Holly said sweetly.
Eli gave up. For the moment.
Diana didn’t. “Take, for example, the way you two are sitting. Shoulder to shoulder.”
“The table is crowded,” Eli protested. “Four-person table, five people jammed in. You’re plastered against Taye.”
Diana smiled like a cat who’d just gotten her first taste of the cream and said nothing.
Fine, that hadn’t helped. Frustrated, Eli looked to Zane for support. No luck; Zane was busy waving for more coffee all around.
Eli wasn’t an idiot. When he examined Zane through objective eyes, he could see the appeal. Zane looked closer to thirty than forty, excepting the smile lines and small sprinkling of silver in his hair, and it was a trim, fit thirty with a body he kept in tip-top shape with rigorous exercise.
Not that Eli had anything to be ashamed of on that count, either. Zane’s enthusiasm for biking and boxing had chivied Eli out of the threat of middle-aged spread and back into better shape than he’d been on the force. Handsome, fit, successful.
So yes, he noticed these things. Didn’t everybody? And so they spent most of their time together. Mankind wasn’t made to be alone. Big deal.
Zane’s beeper shrilled. He rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I’m going to take this in my car. If the waiter comes around, order for me, but no meat. As soon as we’re done here I’m going back to Immaculate Grace and carving myself a filet of intern. Not you,” he said as an aside to Taye. “You’re doing great. Keep up the good work. Eli, tell them I want the usual, okay?”
Eli didn’t let Diana or Holly ask. “Yes, I know his usual. Belgian waffle with cinnamon sugar and whipped cream, the real stuff, and a fruit salad. No strawberries.” He swatted Zane’s hip as Zane scooted behind him and away. “Don’t worry; I’ve got it covered.”
“No strawberries?” Taye asked.
“He’s allergic,” Eli said. Medicine fell outside the personal-business umbrella, and Zane considered nothing taboo anyway. Still grated Eli’s nerves a bit to answer. “I’ve never seen how allergic, but he carries an EpiPen. No sense taking chances.”
Hoping the subject would be dropped, knowing there was no way he’d get that lucky, Eli studied the menu until he could no longer ignore the women clicking their tongues at him. Approximately thirty seconds. “What?”
The women exchanged Highly Significant Looks. “Doth the gentleman protest too much?” Diana asked.
“He doth,” Holly agreed. “Let me ask you a question, Eli.”
“Since I’m well aware that I can’t stop you, please, proceed.” Eli crossed his arms and waited for it.
“How much time did you spend with your ex-wife before she took off for — where was it again?” She shushed him before he could answer. “It’s Austria with Pieter, by the way. I actually know this, and you don’t. Now tell me: how much time do you spend with Zane?”
Eli scowled and said nothing.
Holly pounced. “You see? I’ll bet you can even tell me where Zane was night before last.”
There was no way he would win here, was there? “My place,” Eli admitted. “Takeout and Die Hard. What’s your point?”
“I think their point is that you’re all but married,” Taye said. Apparently he’d chosen sides. Good to know. For that, he would pay. “Look, I know a few things about what it’s like to love your own gender. It’s strange as hell at first.”
Diana’s face fell in a way that would have been heartbreaking if it hadn’t been ever so satisfying instead. “You’re –”
Taye blushed but kept his chin up. “Yes.”
“No disrespect to you personally intended, Taye, but can I just say ha?” Eli pointed at Holly and Diana in turn. “Your gaydar needs a tune-up.”
Diana didn’t take defeat graciously. She narrowed her eyes at Taye. “Prove it.”
“Hey.” Eli straightened. “Nobody around here has to prove anything. Diana, leave him alone.”
Taye’s color heightened. “I can fight my own battles, thanks.”
Eli held up his hands in mock surrender. “Suit yourself, tough guy.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep followed by the powerful coffee, or maybe Taye was one of those fortunate fools who didn’t hesitate to jump in where mortals feared to tread. “Excuse me.” Taye touched the waiter’s arm as he approached, coming in on the third round of coffee refills. “Would it be all right with you if I kissed you?”
The waiter stared at him. Eli waited for the “No!”
Instead, their waiter did a quick check to make sure no managerial eyes were on him, slid his carafe onto the table, and pressed in close to Taye. “I thought you’d never ask, handsome.” He stood on tiptoe and —
Eli sighed. Holly made cooing noises that unfortunately didn’t cover up the noises of a highly enthusiastic kiss. A darker mood still shadowed Eli’s thoughts when the sound of the smacking prompted a stir in his groin.
He tapped his foot thoughtfully. All right, so maybe it’s been a longer dry spell than I’ll admit to this crowd. I’m a busy man. That doesn’t mean listening to two pretty boys make out turns me on. Or Zane. It just means I need to get laid, or at least spend a quality afternoon with my right hand.
“Is that what we’re leaving instead of a tip?” Zane made his reappearance without fanfare or notice from anyone except Eli. “If that’s the case, we should take Taye out with us more often.”
Eli chuckled. “I was just enjoying the sight of Diana proved wrong.”
Diana scowled at Taye. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? No wonder you were willing to brunch instead of crash.”
“Can you blame me?” Taye kissed the waiter again, this time on the tip of his nose. “See you later, handsome.”
Was he? Eli couldn’t see the appeal, himself. Waiter-boy was shorter than Taye by at least half a foot, wiry, curly dark hair, a button nose… Okay, maybe he could see it a little. Discomfort at PDA aside, Eli was man enough to admit the pair of them were almost cute. He knew he’d be just as fidgety with a hetero couple. The last time Holly’s computer-something-or-another-engineer husband, Keith, had come along to brunch, he’d almost wanted to crawl under the table.
Not even Diana could stand up against that. She sighed and shifted fully from tigress on the hunt to full-fledged fan club member. “Worth it.”
A faint touch at his elbow drew Eli’s attention to Holly. “You see?” she asked, quiet as a mouse. A far-too-knowing mouse. “That’s the way you and Zane look at each other. You’re the only two who can’t see it.”
“Be that as it may. We’re not interested. Not homophobic, Taye, so no offense to you. You two ladies, stop going there. This is the last time I’m going to ask. We’re friends. That’s all. Leave it alone.”
Diana clicked her tongue against her teeth. Eli didn’t like the look on her face. Too suspicious by half. “Let me ask you this. How do you know there’s nothing more to it? Have you ever tried?”
Even Holly tried to shush her at that, but the damage was done. “I think we’re done here.” Eli dropped his napkin on the table and stood. “My private life is just that: private. I’ve had about enough of defending myself.”
“Like I said. Protesting too much,” Diana said. She wasn’t one to back down. Normally Eli liked that about her. Normally. Not so much now. “Look it up.”
Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life — like storytelling — is always a work in progress.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes E.M. Hamill to the blog. On January 11, 2026, she released Forrest House, a standalone Mystery-Thriller, romance novel. Enjoy!
BOOK BLURB
Blood is Stronger Than Magic
Ander Forrest renounced blood magic to become a nurse-healer in his rural hometown, far from the drama of wizardry and espionage his sister Kate craved. When Kate goes missing in action, Ander finds himself the legal guardian of her gifted twins and receives a cryptic warning from Kate’s husband to protect them before he, too, disappears.
Six months later, his former lover crash lands in the kids’ bedroom via a spell only Ander’s sister could have cast. Druid Cai Piper doesn’t remember how he got there, but he knows he never stopped loving Ander, and that he was sent to protect him and the twins. Cai is strangely drawn to Forrest House and the land it stands upon.
With the secrets of a clandestine wizards’ order hanging between them, Cai and Ander must remember how to trust each other as sinister forces move against the Forrest family—magical terrorists who want to exploit their rare sorcery and bring the world to its knees.
Cai slept the rest of the afternoon. Ander managed to distract the twins from sneaking into their uncle’s room by helping them make chocolate chip cookies. As snow-blue darkness began to gather in the valley, he peered into the guest room again.
His bloodstained long coat was draped over the footboard. Cai sat on the side of the bed, his drooping head leaning in his hands. It was a disconcerting flashback of the night Ander left their flat. That scene was seared into his conscience like a brand.
“Headache?” Ander asked softly. Cai startled, raised his head quickly, and winced.
“Blinding,” he admitted.
“Here. You need to drink water.” Ander uncapped the bottle and handed it to Cai. “You took a nasty hit to the head. I healed the cut, but it’s a bad bruise. I have some acetaminophen—paracetamol—if you want it.”
“Not yet.” He drank deeply and stood, unfolding his tall frame with caution. “The vertigo is gone.”
“Good.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Ander’s insides still did flip-flops beneath Cai’s golden-brown gaze, bringing warmth to his cheeks.
Cai cleared his throat. “You said I’m in America?”
“Yeah.”
“And if I was sent by a bloodspell, does that mean Remy and Raven are here?”
“Well, of course.” Ander blinked as Cai closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or defeat. “You didn’t know,” he said.
“No. Edwyn kept it a secret, even from me.” His fingers touched the blood-matted knot at the back of his head in tentative exploration. “I must have been out. I would never have let him send me otherwise. He was bleeding badly.” His hand tapped an area high and to the outside on his left leg. “Shot in the thigh.”
Ander thought of all the major blood vessels there and breathed a plea to the Goddess that none were severed. “I didn’t think the Fellowship used bullets.”
“We don’t. We were on a joint mission with intelligence agents. Someone started lobbing spells at us and our allies turned and shot each other. He was hit in the crossfire.”
“A Judas spell?” Ander frowned.
“I think so.”
“Were you working with British intelligence?”
Cai opened his mouth to answer, then flinched and rubbed both sides of his head. “Some of my memories are missing. It’s painful to think about.”
“I think you might have a concussion.”
“Maybe. But this feels more like it was blocked by a spell.”
“By Edwyn?”
“I don’t think he would have had time. Not surrounded by guns and magic.” His breath became uneven again, and he sat unsteadily on the bed. “The harder I try to think about it, the more it hurts.”
“Don’t try right now.” Ander came closer and put his fingers under Cai’s jaw, forcing him to look up so he could peer into his eyes. Still no signs of a more serious head injury, but he wasn’t satisfied until he ran his fingers under Cai’s clotted hair to cradle the bruised lump beneath his palm, his senses open for new bleeding. He didn’t discover any.
Cai stared at him as he pulled away, his face inches from Ander’s. They both became aware at the same time of how close he was standing, his hands gentle on the back of Cai’s head as if he were going to draw him into a kiss. Ander slowly stepped back.
“I have to find a way to get back to…” Cai frowned. “To…damn it! They took that, too. I don’t know where we were.” He looked to Ander with a desolate gaze. “I don’t even know if Edwyn’s alive.”
“You can’t ask the Fellowship?”
He stiffened. “No, I can’t.”
“I’d feel better if I could get you to a hospital.”
“I’ll be fine. I think it’s clear I’m meant to protect you and the twins.”
“Protect us from what?” He sat on the bed next to him. “What’s going on, Cai? Why wouldn’t Ed tell you where the kids were?”
He didn’t answer, his gaze slipping sideways.
Ander had not missed this infuriating silence. Kate had pushed Ander away with it, Edwyn maintained it, and Cai had used it to shut down questions when they were together.
He’d left Wales and come home because the people he loved most in the world could barely talk to him unless he was inducted into the Fellowship.
Fury rose in scarlet floods with Cai’s refusal to speak. Ander let it crest. “That’s fantastic. Of course you can’t say anything. Then tell me how to protect them and get the fuck out.”
“You don’t—”
“They’re all I have left of Kate! I need to know how to protect them!”
“If you’re going to shout at me, then I will take that paracetamol now.” His voice was soft, defeated. A crease furrowed the skin between his brows, and the tight lines of his body spoke of more pain than a headache. Ander didn’t have to imagine the grief of not knowing if his brother was dead or alive. He knew only too well.
“I’m sorry.” Ander exhaled, forcing himself to calm. “We aren’t done,” he said in a less strident tone. “You will tell me what’s going on. Fuck the Fellowship and your code of secrecy! Those kids are my priority now. They’ve already lost their mother, and now maybe their father. No more.”
To his surprise, Cai nodded. “I promise I will tell you what I know.”
Disconcerted by his unexpected victory, Ander reluctantly let his anger drain away.
“Are you hungry? I’m making dinner.”
“Starving. I can’t recall when I last ate anything.”
“It’ll be ready in half an hour. Make sure you drink the rest of that water.” He turned to go.
“Ander.” Cai’s expression was gentle as Ander looked back over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too.” The flutters inside were ridiculous despite the tug of war between Ander’s anger and worry.
Award- winning author Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and whenever it’s possible to steal quality time with a laptop.
Lisa lives with their family, two dogs, and a cat in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes back J. Scott Coatsworth to the blog with a stop on his blog tour for the new release of the second book in the River City series, Down the River. Read on to discover in this latest installment.
BOOK BLURB
Nine years have passed since a group of strangers first met at a magical little restaurant in East Sacramento called Ragazzi. They have all been touched by its subtle magic, and have become a family.
With the tragic death of one of them, the ripples spread through the entire group, exposing secrets and revealing truths that many of them would rather not face.
Dave and Marcos are battling their own demons. Matteo seeks an embezzler at Ragazzi, while Diego struggles to hold on to his son, Gio. Carmelina fears Daniele won’t take no for an answer. And both Ben and Sam are dealing with tragic losses that have turned their lives upside down. Into the mix come a few new characters—Ainsley, a Sac State student studying to be a doctor; a mysterious stranger who is stalking someone in the group; and a few new love interests who may have agendas of their own.
It’s 2024, and the cast of River City is back. What secrets will be revealed before the last page turns?
Warnings: Death of several characters.
Series Blurb:
The River City series is a heady blend of secrets, friendships, a little bit of magic, and a bunch of Italian cooking that will warm your heart.
EXCERPT
Chapter One Ragazzi
Ainsley Kim stared out of the window at the cars as they passed on Folsom Boulevard in a steady row of sparkling red and white, their lights scattering and twinkling like fairy dust across the rain-splattered glass. It was mesmerizing—so much life out there… and in here, as she was rudely reminded by the diner clearing his throat behind her.
“So sorry!” She spun around, reaching for the Toast point-of-sale device that hung from a custom-made pocket in her clean white apron that said Ragazzi in neat black letters. She turned her attention back to her customers. “Are you ready to order?”
The one who’d cleared his throat was a sharply dressed man in his mid-fifties—lawyer if she’d had to guess—his neatly trimmed black hair turning silver on the sides. He glared at the menu as if it were opposing counsel, squinting through his wire-framed glasses and scowling. “Damned print is so small on these things.”
His dining partner, another man in a black suit and tie, but without a hair on his head, chuckled. “You’re just getting old, Andy. Order the tagliatelle. It’s what you always get.” Bald Head offered her a warm smile. “So sorry for my partner’s behavior. Rough day in court today.”
Ainsley hid a grin. She was good at reading people. “Not a problem. So… the tagliatelle?”
Andy nodded. “Sure. With arrabbiata sauce. And ask the chef to make it a little extra spicy.”
She tapped it into the POS, feeling more like a glorified data entry clerk than a waitress. “You got it. And you, sir?”
“Don’t let him fool you. Kel knows what he wants. He just likes to play with his prey.” Andy grimaced, then managed a weak smile. “Sorry for the foul mood. I hate losing.”
Rich, white, and a lawyer to boot? You have no idea what losing is. “Not a problem.” She flashed him her best you’re the customer so I’ll pretend I like you smile.
“I’ll have the gnocchi in a ragu sauce, and an appetizer of your delightful burrata.” Kel flipped the menu over. “Add a glass of Chateau Ciel. I, unlike my friend here, had a lovely day. Signed a new artist for the gallery, a talented Korean painter named Jun Seo Jang.” His eyes fixed on her. “Do you know him?”
Ainsley blinked, caught between the casual racism of assuming that all Koreans knew each other—maybe he didn’t mean it that way?—and the fact that she did actually know them. Or of them, anyhow. Jang was one of her idols.
Customer service won out. “Yes. They are very good. I studied them in art class.”
Kel grinned. “Then you must come see his… their pieces. Sorry, old dog, new tricks. I’ll be getting the first of them next week.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “Kelton O’Malley, Red Roof Gallery.”
She took it, staring at it. It seemed to sparkle under the restaurant’s mood lighting. She blinked and the sparkle went away. She stuffed it in her pocket.
Nobody used business cards anymore. So old school. “Thank you. I’ll try to come by. It’s a bit busy, with school and work and all…” And taking care of her mother.
“Ah, what’s your major?”
“Molecular biology.” It came out automatically. Her father had wanted her to “make something of herself,” not just be another poor immigrant like himself, working at minimum wage jobs. She’d been at it so long, doing what her parents wanted her to do, that it almost seemed like she wanted it, too.
“Impressive.” He winked. “Still, it’s good to hear that you have an appreciation for the arts as well.”
She blushed. That comment hit a little too close to home. “I’ll find some time to stop by.”
“Wonderful. Jun Seo will be there next Thursday night, if you want to meet… them.”
Ainsley touched the edge of the table to steady herself. “They’ll be here… in town?” She was already calculating how she could rearrange things to be at the gallery.
“They personally supervise the set-up at all their new galleries.” He grinned. “See, that whole pronoun thing’s not so hard.”
She suppressed a snort. Boomers were always making such a big deal about it. “Let me get those orders in for you.” She gave them a small bow—ingrained behavior from two decades growing up in the Kim household—and slipped away.
“Need anything here?” she asked her next table, a young gay couple from the looks of it, who were busy staring rapturously into each other’s eyes like a couple lovestruck teenagers.
“Just some water,” the blond said, never breaking his gaze, his hand wrapped tightly around the other man’s. A single plate of pasta sat between them.
“You got it.”
A two-for-one, or twofer, they called it—when two clients shared a dish, usually to save costs.
Matteo had needed to raise prices again last month to account for inflation. Luckily Ragazzi was doing well enough that they’d expanded into a new addition, taking over the old bar next door for Diego’s cooking classes.
She twirled through the restaurant like a ballerina, checking on tables, her footsteps lighter than they’d been in months. Jun Seo Jang was coming to town. She had so many questions for them.
How did you find your inspiration? When did you know you wanted to be an artist? How did you let your parents down gently?
Ainsley Kim had a secret.
She wanted to be an artist more than anything else in the whole wide world. She wanted to create things, pieces of art that would make people frown and smile and nod knowingly as they stood in front of them, stroking their chins. Like her father did as a hobby.
She wanted to meet Jang, but she also wanted to become them.
The thought of life as a medical researcher left her cold, but her parents had invested so much in that dream, both money and hope. How could she bear to disappoint them?
Maybe it was better if she didn’t go to the gallery on Thursday. Better for everyone involved.
Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.
He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and was the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) for almost three years.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Vincent Traughber Meis to the blog. Iguana is a standalone book recently released on May 3rd, 2025. There is a Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of the post. Look around and good luck!
BOOK BLURB
Dawson Wozniak moved to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico looking for a change after ending a long-term relationship. Returning to the site where his parents honeymooned, immersing himself in the local culture, and meeting new friends was sure to bring adventure and, hopefully, clarity about both his past and his future. His apartment building’s manager, Ivan, throws a wrench in the plan with his handsome looks, occasional flirting, and forced distance. Just as they are about to test their undeniable curiosity and attraction for each other, a tragedy strikes the building, forcing Dawson and Ivan apart.
When it seems there are too many obstacles, Ivan insists they can’t explore their chemistry. Still, he keeps coming back and pulling Dawson in, teasing him with possibility but filling him with doubt. Soon Dawson is consumed with thoughts of Ivan and his mercurial attention, and he can’t help but compare himself to the tragic gay characters in the books he edits. One minute Ivan is playful and laughing, and the next he’s cold and aloof, battling with cultural expectations and familial responsibilities.
Dawson gives into the push and pull of this confusing but exhilarating relationship, trying to convince himself he can handle a no-strings-attached situation with a man who is still coming to terms with his sexuality…even if he knows that he would love nothing more than to have Ivan fully, openly, and all to himself. While this confusing relationship may not be the adventure he was expecting, it may just be the adventure that allows Dawson to decide exactly who and where he wants to be.
Warnings: COVID, death, drug/alcohol use, possible suicide, mention of rape
A rustling in the dry undergrowth and the crackling of twigs indicated a large-ish animal. It spotted me before I spotted it, but even with its camouflage, it couldn’t hide in the sparse surroundings. The iguana slithered up the embankment to higher ground with its long black and tan striped tail fanning back and forth to aid its escape. It climbed a tree and moved out on a branch that hung over the sidewalk in front of me.
I stopped. It stopped. I took a step forward. It crawled out a little further on the branch as if it was a gatekeeper. I had never been that close to an iguana, just ten feet above me, looking fierce with a torso about three feet long and a dewlap of variegated skin fluttering under its throat. A row of spikes ran down the spine, getting shorter as they reached the long tail. I’d been told they were harmless as long as they weren’t threatened. Some people even took them on as unlikely pets, putting them on leashes and charging tourists to take a picture with them.
But there was something about the way it stared at me that kept me frozen there on the pavement, wondering if it was safe to walk under its perch on the branch. I stared back. For what seemed a long time, we stared at each other. And then, its scaly eyebrow closed over the black marble pupil in a bed of yellow iris. If we had been playing a game of who blinks first, I had won. I didn’t feel like a winner, though, and the iguana didn’t seem to care as it continued to observe me, blinking as if bored with the relative newcomer on the planet. I nodded, acknowledging I was an invader in its land. Not just as a foreigner but as a human carving into the jungle habitat of the animal.
I was in Mexico for a new beginning, walking down the hill to do my shopping, if this beast would let me. Sweat began pooling in the middle of my chest, and I needed to move on. As I passed under the branch, I swear the iguana shrugged and looked away as if it was done with me. I felt dismissed. And then I began to laugh, a laughter of relief and surprise, thrilled with this new experience, one more in a long list that seemed a daily occurrence since I had moved here.
The day had begun with clear skies broadcasting hope, the balcony slightly cooler than inside the house as I lingered over my breakfast, feeling the view of the Bay of Banderas from Punta de Mita to Los Arcos like a physical thing that coddled me. We were in the dog days of summer, with the dog-star, Sirius, rising and setting about the same time as the sun. It was the hottest time of the year, and relief only came, I was told by my neighbors, when afternoon showers again pelted the corrugated roofs of the neighborhood down below. Everyone talked of the rains coming late this year.
Before the heat and humidity became too oppressive, I planned to walk down the hill to the market and buy food for the next few days when the forecasters insisted the heavy rains would come, ushered in by thunder and lightning. I would get back up the hill before the church bells struck ten in the plaza below.
I stepped out of the apartment into the stuffy hall, which smelled of fried onions and spices I couldn’t identify from the apartment across the hall. I summoned the elevator and watched the short countdown from the rooftop to my floor. When the doors opened, Ivan in his company logo polo shirt and jeans stood chewing on one of his fingernails. He dropped his hands and folded them in front of his crotch as he stepped aside and made room. “Buenos días, señor Dawson.”
“Hola, Ivan.” I leaned against the back wall and watched his blurry reflection in the shiny metal of the doors.
On the next floor, he got off, and as the doors closed, I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. The tension I felt when near him made no sense. Ivan had been hired a few months before as the day manager who oversaw daily operations in the twelve-unit building curiously named Paradiso, which sounded both presumptuous and unsettling. He handled everything from delivering packages to residents’ doors to coordinating cleanups to keeping the place secure. Everyone found him friendly and efficient. Everyone loved him. Why did I often see him joking and bantering in English and Spanish with other residents when he was all business and cold with me? Why did my packages sometimes go undelivered when everyone else got theirs the same day?
Vincent Traughber Meis grew up in Decatur, Illinois and graduated from Tulane University in New Orleans. He has also traveled extensively, and as result of his travels and time abroad he published a number of pieces, mostly travel articles, but also a few poems and book reviews, in publications such as, The Advocate, LA Weekly, In Style, and Our World in the 1980s and 90s. He has published five novels with Fallen Bros Press: Eddie’s Desert Rose (2011), Tio Jorge (2012), and Down in Cuba (2013), Deluge (2016) and Four Calling Burds (2019).
Tio Jorge received a Rainbow Award in the category of Bisexual Fiction in 2012.Down in Cuba received two Rainbow Awards in 2013. Deluge won a Rainbow Award in 2016. His sixth novel The Mayor of Oak Street was released in 2021 with NineStar Press and a book of his short stories in 2021. Three more novels have been published with Spectrum Books, First Born Sons (2023), Colton’s Terrible Wonderful year (2023) and The Long Journey to You (2024). His stories have been published in several collections, including WITH: New Gay Fiction, and other collections. He lives in San Leandro, California and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Timoteo Tong to the blog. Resurrecting My Magic is the second book in the Magicals Alliance series, and released on July 23rd, 2024. There is a Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of the post. Look around and good luck!
In the thrilling sequel to “Magic, Monsters and Me,” Elijah Delomary forges new abilities with new mentors, seeks to reunify with Austin, and faces the terrible truth behind losing his powers. As war rages between Devlina and Zid’dra, Elijah and his family are drawn into the conflict.
Zid’dra grows stronger and brings Elijah to the precipice of destruction. Faced with a terrifying revelation, Elijah is pushed to protect his family, Austin, and the very fabric of existence. The weight of these challenges tests Elijah’s strength, forcing him to confront the darkest forces while proving the unwavering strength of his love to Austin.
As the evil plan comes to light, Elijah forges new abilities with new mentors, seeks to reunify with Austin, and faces the terrible truth behind losing his powers. As war rages between Devlina and Zid’dra, Elijah and his family are drawn into the conflict. Zid’dra grows stronger and brings Elijah to the precipice of destruction. Will he survive? Can he trust himself to do the right thing? Will he believe that love can conquer darkness and save the world?
Warnings: homophobia, racism, bullying, fat phobia, LGBT slurs, fade to black sex
SERIES BLURB
The Magicals’ Alliance series revolves around the influential Delomary family, known for their massive corporation, philanthropy, and charity work. But unbeknownst to the public, they’re also the secret defenders against dark forces, facing off against monsters like Vampires and Werewolves in an age-old battle between good and evil. “Magic, Monsters and Me” is the thrilling first installment in this epic saga. Join them in their mission to protect humanity from perilous extinction.
Excerpt of “Resurrecting My Magic” by Timoteo Tong Copyright 2024 Timoteo Tong
“One night, I sat in the window seat in my room, watching the rain falling outside my window, when I heard a cry for help.
“Someone help me!”
I glanced at the clock: 3:00 AM. I padded to the door, peering outside to the long hallway stretching from Aunt Christine’s suite on one end to Mom’s on the other. The darkness was punctuated every few feet from the dim chandeliers overhead. Silence. The house and everyone in it were asleep except me. I returned to the window.
“Help!” a voice shouted, weaker this time.
“Shit,” I complained. I returned to my room, walked over to the closet, then jammed my feet in my running shoes and headed downstairs. I grabbed my raincoat from the front hall closet and stepped outside.
Where was security? They usually patrolled the grounds at night. Maybe there was a shift change. Rain thundered down on the roof of the veranda and on the brick walkway winding down the front lawn to the main gates. I stepped onto the stairs and into the rain. I hurried to the wrought iron fence separating our property from the street. I paused, noticing a strange pink light illuminating the jacaranda trees lining the street. I turned to see where it was coming from. I gasped. The house glowed with a fluorescent pink light from the runes Mom had recently cast over the house in the Jotomoarlo Sangrancto. The ancient characters appeared as if projected on the house moving up along the façade and disappearing on the mansard roof.
“Please, help little old me!” a voice called. I looked back at the house. The house was actively fighting some evil force itself. I turned and made my way to the empty street. A half block away, I spotted a figure, shrouded in shadows between the streetlights, waving to me.
“Help! Monsters!”
“I can help you!” I called, patting my pajama pockets for my PlasmX. Puxhàredo! I left it on the dresser in my closet. I stretched out my arm and raised my hand on the off chance my PlasmX would levitate out of my room and into my hands. Nothing happened. Crap. Máurso had drilled it in my head to never be without my PlasmX. And I had forgotten that rule already. I grumbled. Okay, I would just use my fists and body to battle any monster. My Xem Sen Ou improved every week. I was a walking weapon, I told myself.
I closed in on the figure.
“Come and help me.”
The stench of ashes and sulfur wafted into my nose. I gagged. Okay, a chain smoker needed my help. Mom had drilled it into my head to never smoke.
“You want yellow teeth? Wrinkles when you’re eighteen? Smell like cigarettes?”
“No?”
“Good, don’t smoke, ever!”
I could do this. I paused in front of a shadowy figure.
“Elijah Delomary, Bane of the Gloom, here to help..uh..ma’am, sir, they?”
The figure reached up to their hood with their hands, only the skin was blistered and black and oozing. My eyes widened, seeing rotting flesh on their arms. I stopped in my tracks. I began to back away.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you remember me?” A raspy voice called as the hood fell off the head of the figure. The face of an old woman with wrinkled skin and washed-out blue eyes peered at me. Fungus crusted half the woman’s face.
“Come here, honey. It’s me, your great-great aunt Mady!”
I turned and began to run. That couldn’t be Aunt Mady. She had died when I was eight years old at the ripe old age of 102. My foot hit a rut in the sidewalk, sending me tumbling forward. I crashed onto the lawn of my friend Letitia’s house. I sprawled on my back, rain beating down on my face. My heart lodged in my throat. I wanted to cry out for help. I wanted to run, but for some reason, every muscle in my body was paralyzed. I heard the sound of Aunt Mady’s walker clacking on the sidewalk.
“Come and give me a hug, honey!”
I closed my eyes. I should have woken Barn, called Sunny. Security. No, I— Stop, Elijah. You didn’t know any better. You meant well. The path to hell is lined with good intentions. No, stop. Stop. Stop beating yourself up.
The clacking stopped. Aunt Mady, or whoever she was, stood over me. I was helpless. Thunder rumbled. Our twelfth atmospheric river of the rainy season. The vernal equinox passed weeks ago. Springtime. It never rained this much in Southern California. Something was wrong, someone was trying to drown the land of milk and honey. Drown La La Land and wash California into the sea.
Wheezing filled the air. I pressed my eyes closed as a hand reached for me. A vision bloomed in my head. Two pinpoints of red light that grew and grew and grew filled my mind.
“You proved yourself quite capable,” the voice said. “I was hoping you’d run yourself ragged, trying to prove to yourself you’re not some piece of crap like your father. I hoped to watch you collapse and die. You didn’t. Then I was sure you would give up. You surprised me. So now I am here to destroy you, so Devlina is weakened, and I can grow stronger!”
Timoteo Tong’s imagination has always run wild, growing up in Burbank, CA, dreaming of battling vampires, werewolves, and witches in a Victorian mansion. Inspired by literary giants like L. Frank Baum, CS Lewis, and JRR Tolkien, he wrote his first book at eight, featuring his stuffed cocker spaniel marrying a playful duck. Now living in San Francisco with his husband, Timoteo surrounds himself with plants and books, enjoying cheese pizza, donuts, and long naps. He balances his creative pursuits with a healthy lifestyle, working out regularly. Timoteo dreams of flying one day and aims to enchant readers with his storytelling, just as his favorite authors did for him.
Moonbeams over Atlanta welcomes Mickie B. Ashling to the blog. A Unique Request is the first book in the Basque Trilogy trilogy, and this second edition was released on December 7th, 2024. There is a Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of the post. Take a look and good luck!
BOOK BLURB
Mickie has reduced the price of A Unique Request to $1.99 while the book is on tour.
Seven years have passed since Paul Alcott and Mick Henley separated, but hearing the familiar voice reinforces what Paul has known all along―he still loves Mick and wants him back.
Hope flares upon receiving a dinner invitation, but his dream evaporates when he learns that Mick is in a relationship with Basque jai alai player, Tono Garat.
To make matters worse, Paul’s services as a book editor are solicited to help Tono through the final revision of a love story he’s written.
Paul refuses until Mick reveals he’s been diagnosed with a fatal disease, and the novel is Tono’s only means of coping.
Paul and Tono resent each other, but they can’t deny the strong sexual attraction between them. Will they overcome their differences to provide the loving support necessary to sustain the man they love or will their animosity destroy Mick’s final days?
Warnings: Second chances, bittersweet, fatal disease
Paul stood outside the door, debating his decision to show up. He had a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bunch of colorful wildflowers in the other. He’d given in to a moment of sentimental weakness, and now he wondered what the hell he was doing. He turned to leave when the door was yanked open by a fractious brunet with a scowl on his face. “¿Sí?”
“Hi. I’m Paul Alcott.”
The stranger scowled and scrutinized him from the top of his shining head down his designer-clad body.
Paul was unfazed. He was just as curious about the man who’d replaced him in Mick’s life. He inspected him like he would any rival, noting the chestnut-colored hair curling around his neckline. His upper body was hidden behind a loose T-shirt, but the corded muscles of his forearms were a clear indication of what was underneath. He was striking, no doubt about it. The heated gaze was bad enough, but it was his luscious mouth that sent Paul’s mind straight to the gutter. He was shocked by his body’s quick response to this stranger, despite the obvious antagonism. He brought his hand down, covering the evidence of his growing interest with the flowers.
The Spaniard blinked and rewarded Paul with a tentative smile. “I’m Tono Garat,” he announced in a heavily accented voice.
“Nice to meet you.” Paul nodded. “Is Mick around?”
“Yes, of course. Come in, please.”
Tono spun around, and Paul zeroed in on the rounded ass covered in tight white shorts. No garter lines meant he was naked underneath, and Paul couldn’t help but notice.
“Paul!” Mick called out, rushing forward and hugging Paul tightly. “God, it’s been too long.”
“I know,” Paul said, falling under Mick’s spell within seconds. It had always been so good between them, and despite the years and the distance, the sentiment remained the same. “You’re still as gorgeous as ever.”
“Oh, stop. You always were good for my ego.”
“The years have been kind to you, my friend,” Paul continued, taking in every part of Mick. He did look great, trim and fit, clean-shaven. His hair was a little longer than Paul remembered, but the dark curls framed Mick’s tanned face, making the violet-tinged eyes pop.
“You don’t look half-bad either.” Mick’s voice shifted, and the words came out like a soft caress. He toyed with a lock of Paul’s silky hair, curling it around his finger. “When did you let your hair grow?”
“After my father died; no more memos about looking professional.” Paul smirked as he recalled Paul Senior’s edicts.
“Shall I take the bottle?” Tono interrupted, looking uncomfortable. Perhaps he was aware of their long history, but seeing the chemistry was a different matter altogether.
“Sure,” Paul replied, handing over the wine.
“I made a pitcher of sangria. Would you like a glass?” Tono asked, never taking his eyes off Paul.
“Sounds good. I’m assuming it’s authentic.”
“I made it from scratch,” Tono huffed.
“Come on,” Mick stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. He took Paul by the arm and led him out to the tiny patio that had a wrought iron table for four and several wooden planters filled with assorted vegetables. The tomatoes were almost ripe and hanging from branches held up with green sticks. The Weber grill was off to one side―a tribute to summer and warm evenings.
“This is nice, Mick. I had no idea this was out here.”
“Not too many people do. I guess the owners were into gardening, so I benefit. It’s what attracted me to this unit in the first place.”
Paul sat down and stretched out, loving the sight of Mick after so long. “So, what have you been up to?”
“Living La Vida Loca.” Mick smiled. “I’ve been writing, of course, but mostly enjoying my life.”
“Sounds great. Are you still working on your sequel?”
“Yes, as well as something new.”
“Oh?”
“I’m helping Tono with his book.”
Paul gave Tono a frosty look. “You’re a writer?”
“I’m not,” Tono replied, placing a large wineglass with chunks of fruit in front of Paul. “I’m a professional jai alai player, but I’ve written a romance, based on my relationship with Mick.”
“A romance?” Paul turned to Mick for the answer. “Why?”
MICKIE B. ASHLING is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks.
Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Audiobooks and foreign translations are available at Amazon and Audible. Her award-winning novels have been described as “gut- wrenching, daring, and thought-provoking.”
